14. Someone Was Escalating
SOMEONE WAS ESCALATING
The minute the bells went off the next night, Ash was already moving.
The covers flew back as one, all bodies rolled out of their narrow bunks in the shared room. There were no words. No wasted motion as hands reached for pants, boots, shirts. Muscle memory took over while sleep still clawed at the edges of their brains.
In the garage, gear was thrown on, helmets grabbed. Then they were off and running.
They hit the truck hard, the metal rattling as doors slammed and bodies piled in. The bay doors lifted and the cold November air knifed through them, sharp enough to wake the dead as the engine roared to life, the siren blasted and the lights flashed.
“Car fire,” crackled over the radio.
He clenched his jaw, barely holding back a groan.
Not fucking again.
Then the address came through. His heart slammed straight into his throat.
Not a dead end. Not a wide-open street with room to breathe.
A neighborhood.
Houses stacked close, porches nearly touching, shared driveways and cars lining both sides of the road. Old construction. Old wiring. Old everything. The kind of place where fire didn’t just burn—it ran.
No modern alarms. No interconnected smoke detectors. Just luck and whoever was awake.
The truck blasted through a red light, the intersection empty, sirens screaming into the night as he gripped the rail when the driver took the turn hard, his shoulder slamming into the side.
Then they were there.
The car sat in the shared driveway, fully engulfed, the flames rolling high, black smoke boiling into the sky. The fire had already climbed the front porch, licking up the siding and melting it like wax.
“Go, go, go!” he heard.
They were out before the truck had fully stopped.
The hoses hit pavement. The hydrant spun open. He dropped to one knee, the line jerking alive in his hands as water thundered toward the car. Another line was trained on the house, trying to hold the fire at the threshold while two firefighters smashed through the front door and disappeared inside.
The brutal and unrelenting heat slammed into him. The bright glow of the hungry beast looking for more.
Inside, the fire clawed through the entryway, thick smoke pouring out in choking waves. He could hear it now, the wood popping, glass cracking, the angry roar of something that wanted more.
Then his breath escaped when the figures raced through the smoke and out.
Two of them burst through, each firefighter carrying an elderly resident, limp but breathing, he hoped. They moved fast, boots skidding as they cleared the porch and handed them off to EMTs, then went back to battling the same monster.
A second later, a gray blur shot past Ash’s leg.
A cat.
It bolted into the night, fur singed but alive. He clung to that small win and let it anchor him.
Everyone was out. Everyone was alive. At least he was telling himself that.
Then the wind shifted.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he shouted, but no one heard him with his respirator on.
Flames caught the roof, the thing lighting up like a Christmas tree in the Big Apple.
The fire took off, racing along old, dry boards like it had been waiting for the chance to break free. The wind gusted harder, feeding it, pushing embers toward the neighboring house.
They were in it now. Backup would be called. Mutual aid. All hands. Everything and everybody to get this under control.
Twenty minutes later, more engines arrived, lights flashing with bodies pouring in. A punch-out had been ordered—every available firefighter working the perimeter, hammering the flames back, making damn sure it didn’t jump.
A window blew out with a violent bang, and his body jerked before he turned the hose in that direction, flames surging dangerously close to the house next door.
“Shift the line! Now!” he heard on his radio.
Ash redirected, his arms burning as he forced the hose to comply. Water hammered into the gap just as sparks threatened to carry.
Sweat poured down his back despite the cold, soaking through his gear. His shoulders screamed. His grip slipped, then tightened again.
He shifted his stance, braced his legs, letting them take more of the weight.
There would be no break. Not yet.
This fire wasn’t random. This fire was hungry. It was pissed.
It was ready to get started.
And as Ash fought it inch by inch, one thought cut through the smoke and exhaustion with terrifying clarity.
This wasn’t just another car fire.
Someone was escalating.
Two hours later, he sat on the curb, his body all but sagging with relief over what they’d been able to do.
The house was destroyed, the structure barely holding on, but they’d saved the houses close by with minimal damage.
He lifted the shield from his eyes, popped the respirator off and sucked in the scorched, smoke-filled air. He just needed to feel the coolness more than anything.
“That was rough,” Bruce said, all but collapsing next to him. His buddy had been one to run into the fire with the captain.
“Yeah. You had a firsthand look inside. It was overtaken, wasn’t it?”
“Completely. The siding caught fast, then the old wood under it was nothing more than kindling. If we had been five minutes later, there would have been no survivors. The couple didn’t even know there was a fire.”
Ash shook his head. “Wasn’t that the point?”
“This is getting out of hand,” Bruce said. “We’ve got to catch him. I’m not buying it’s not connected. That second one on Halloween, sure, but not this.”
“That’s my thought.” He turned his head when Alan flopped next to him. “Nothing like getting called out of bed for this one.”
“You’re not alone. Wonder how many made it in.”
“On a Saturday night, hard to say,” Alan said.
On the weekends, if someone had been drinking, they wouldn’t come in. It’d be too dangerous. One slip, one little mistake cost too many lives.
He looked around and noticed at least six more from his station, guys that came in when called.
Not everyone had the luxury if they had kids at home and were alone.
Thankfully, the volunteers came in and lent a hand also.
“Got your butt up though,” he said, his boot nudging Alan’s. “We know you’re tucked in nice and snug with your wife on a Saturday. You’ve got no life.”
“Trick-or-treating has been the most action I’ve seen in a while. Thoughts on this guy?”
“Probably the same as you.”
“Yeah. This bites,” Alan said. “Getting a little more aggressive now.”
“We’ll catch him. He’s bound to mess up soon.”
“Or not,” Alan said. “You just never know what goes through someone’s head.”
“Nope.” Just like when he looked around at the neighbors outside, some frightened, chilled, crying, others just watching the show.
But he only saw one person.
“Goddammit,” he muttered and stood up to walk to Skye.
“Hey,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Just exhausted. You should be in bed.” He looked up at the sky. “I don’t even know what time it is.”
She turned her phone around. Three a.m.
“I’ll sleep tomorrow. Once I get this written.”
He snorted. “Skye, no one is going to talk to you tonight. You know that, right?”
“I know. I got some pictures and interviewed the neighbors and who called it in.”
“How do you know who it was?”
“Because I heard people talking, introduced myself and they talked. They said their dog was barking and woke them up. Their bedroom is on the other side of the house, so didn’t notice the flashing from the flames, but came downstairs and noticed it right away, called it in and moved their car out into the road after. ”
“That’s stupid of them to get in their car and move it,” he said.
“I’m sure they weren’t thinking that,” she said.
“Come on, guys. Load ‘em up.”
Her hand reached out, landed on his quickly, then dropped away. “Hey, try to get some sleep.”
“That won’t happen until I get in my own bed now.”
He turned and walked away even if every part of him wanted to both lecture her for being there to get a story, and kiss her for being concerned.
“Now that was fun.”
It was worth every hour of circling the streets, hunting for the right place, the right homes without the telltale blink of doorbell cameras, or at least a blind spot big enough to slip through. Houses packed close enough to share heat and maybe share the same fate.
He hadn’t expected it to shoot up like a Roman candle. The rush surprised him. How fast the fire climbed, how hard his pulse kicked in response. He wanted more of that.
He needed it!
And the chaos? The chaos was the best part. Sirens flashing, shouting from the worker bees and scared bystanders, bodies running in every direction, all of them desperate to keep it contained, to make sure everyone got out alive.
He rocked back on his heels, his breath hitching as a laugh slipped free.
“Hehehehe.”
To think, just last week he’d stood watching the truck burn, satisfied with his handiwork and the thought he was throwing them off his tail, until the whispers started.
That someone else started the other fire.
No.
No one was copying him.
They called it an accident. Maybe it was. But he’d seen how close the flames had been to the house, how easily it could have jumped, how quickly everything could have spiraled.
That was what he’d been missing.
That was the excitement he needed in his life again.
He rubbed his hands together and melted back into the night, swallowed by shadows and quiet streets.
Things were finally getting good.